


Missed Opportunities

by LadyStrangeandUnusual (Dream_Wreaver)



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Death, F/M, Mild Language, Musicalbabes, beetlebabes, sexual innuendo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-04 03:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20464343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_Wreaver/pseuds/LadyStrangeandUnusual
Summary: Beetlejuices misses his opportunity and the Maitlands head to the Netherworld. So what's a demon to do stuck in a house with no one he believes can see him?





	1. Invisible, Ready Set Not Yet

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo, so this is basically an experiment. My biggest problem with the musical is how little presence the Maitlands seem to have in it, mostly in that they're there more as plot devices than actual characters. So I wanted to see if I could more or less do the same story without them in it. And that's what this is. Hope you all enjoy it anyways, I'm going to try and restrict chapters to only covering one or two songs, instead of the three in this one. But we'll see how it goes. Anyways, on with the story!
> 
> Also, potential trigger warning, please read: Barbara finds out she's pregnant right before she dies, I don't specify how far along she is, but just in case that's something that squicks people out, please be warned it's in here

Invisible. Something about that word resonated deeply within her. Invisible. Because that was how she felt now. With her mother gone, Lydia Deetz was unequivocally invisible. There were well wishers at her mother’s funeral. All of them dressed somberly in black with large hats and umbrellas. They spoke in hushed tones and whispered murmurs. They kept their gazes cast towards the ground. And yet, the world around Lydia kept moving, even as hers had fallen apart at the seams. Clocks ticked, the phones still rang. The pastor spoke of coming together, of having no words for times like these. He spoke of scripture, of the idea that no one truly walked alone so long as the Lord was there to guide them. But all of it felt so hollow and removed. Because Lydia had never felt so alone or unseen before now. Lydia stared at the cold and dismal headstone that rainy day, unseeing and yet aware. Aware of how the other mourners whispered behind their hands, speaking as though she wasn’t there at all. Any words spoken to her were platitudes, things to say when you had nothing to say. No one understood the depth of sorrow this had put the young woman in. Lydia stood there, long and still and silent. Watching as everyone left, as they always did and always would.

She knelt down, curling up besides her mother’s headstone. The bouquet of calla lilies clutched tightly in her fist now hanging limply from her grasp. The cemetery was empty save for those heading back to their cars, the storm clouds rolled in overhead. It would figure, Lydia thought. She wondered how many people had wanted to help fix things, to help save what couldn’t have been saved, or could it have? Lydia hadn’t been able to see her mother in her final moments, her father had assured her the doctors were the best money could buy. Even so, she’d noticed that he’d refused to look at anything during the funeral. Not the flowers, not the casket, not the headstone. Where she had been riveted, more than anxious to soak up anything left of her mother, Charles had simply looked away. Lydia wondered if it was because he’d felt ashamed. Adults tended to do things like that, look away from any problem they couldn’t fix. But what about this problem? What about _ her_? Was she a problem that they couldn’t fix? Was that why they wouldn’t look at her? Did they think she was beyond help?

Emily had been the one person who encouraged Lydia’s love for the oddities of life. Anything strange, or out of the ordinary, Emily had always said that those were the special treasures of life. Lydia remembered how her mother used to call her as a child, “Come here my little strange one,”

A pained smile briefly surfaced as Lydia heard the echo of her mother’s voice within her mind. Joy at remembering, sorrow at the realization that never again would she hear that name. Or that voice. Emily was nothing more than a memory now. And so was the experience of being seen, understood. Was Lydia selfish? Was it being too greedy to need someone to see her? To say her name? To prove to the world that if only for a brief moment, she existed, she _ mattered_? Lydia looked around at the dispersing crowds still at the gate, where her father waited. She noticed many of them already taking off the airs they’d put on the funeral. The hats, the veils, the pancake makeup. Some of them were even taking off their black jackets. Lydia cast her gaze to Emily’s grave a final time before standing and slowly beginning to make her way back. The sun began to peek out from the storm clouds. It seemed to her that when someone lost their mother, no one turned off the light. The sun still shone, the birds still sang, folks carried on and that was that. You were simply invisible when you were sad.

Lydia got into the back seat of the car, unwilling to head to the front because that was where her mother always sat when dad drove. They went home, to that empty abysmal house. But it was still home. Mom’s stuff was still there. A lifetime’s worth of memories in those halls and walls. But Lydia wasn’t in the mood for a nostalgia trip tonight. Neither was Charles it seemed, because all he did was say he’d order something for dinner and retreat to his study. Lydia returned to her room. All the decorations, reminders of the strange and unusual things she had gotten into with her mother’s encouragement now only served to cause her further pain. Lydia returned to the hall and found one of many empty boxes that always seemed to be laying about and started taking things down. But even that proved too much to bear for Lydia at the moment. Nothing held any appeal, nothing except laying down face first and trying to forget that this was now her reality. As if she could wake up and this would all have been a horrible nightmare and Mom would still be there, probably hiding in one of the hall closets ready to scare the next unsuspecting person that walked by -which usually meant her husband. And Lydia could simply stand in the doorway, waiting, and laughing because it didn’t matter how long they’d been married, her father would still fall for that same prank every single time. And he’d get exasperated and flustered but then they’d all share a good laugh and go figure out what they wanted to order for dinner.

But the hallway was dark. The closet was empty. Her parents room held only the faintest trace of her mother’s scent. Lydia knew it by heart; that perfume her mother wore that reminded her of dark and spooky things, the slight smell of incense that despite her mother never being seen using it always seemed to hang around her, and the scent of the laundry detergent she favored. Now, more than anything all Lydia could smell was the scent of her father; expensive cologne and tobacco from his pipe. Lydia sat on her mother’s side of the bed, running her hands across the texture of the comforter. With a sigh, she fell back against the rest of the mattress, hair spilling around her. Lydia closed her eyes tightly, hoping, wishing, almost _ praying _ that this wasn’t her reality. That her mother was still here, and not buried below in some cold and distant cemetery. But it was to no avail. Her eyes opened to an empty ceiling and Lydia left. She passed her father’s study and heard him talking on the phone,

“Yes Ms… Schlimmer, was it? Yes I’m sorry about the rather late hour but I wanted to call and ask about your advertisement as a… what was it you call yourself again?” he paused, “Yes, that. Well you see, I’m afraid my daughter is in need of a bit of assistance and I’d like to make an appointment to meet with you as soon as possible,”

Oh great, now father was calling a therapist. Just what Lydia needed. Someone picking apart her brain and trying to fix what wasn’t broken. Why couldn’t they just let her be sad? Why couldn’t they just accept her as she was? Mom had. She always had. Dad had never tried to change _ her_. Lydia returned to her room and softly closed the door. She had never before felt so completely and utterly alone.

BJ BJ BJ

The whole being dead thing was not as bad as most breathers worried. Mostly, it was a whole lot of boredom. But there was fun to be had if you hung around long enough. You could pull off any number of tricks, from the mundane parlor one -levitating, ventriloquism, possession- to more complex stuff like manipulating the weather and shapeshifting. Beetlejuice himself could even replicate and make Beetleclones. Those guys were always good for a laugh. Besides, the thing with life that he’d learned over countless centuries of observation was that no one made it out alive. Life was temporary, death was forever. A bit of magic was still a nice consolation prize. Of course, with power came those who were scared of it. Not breathers, though you could scare the shit out of them with just about anything. No, there were higher powers in the afterlife. Those who were afraid of him. He didn’t blame them, he was the result of a union between a ghost and a demon; they classified him as a poltergeist but really they were at a lack of words for what to call him. Popular titles included abomination, monster, thing, creature. Words hurt, but pranks tended to make everything better. His mother was the best at inflicting pain, it had been her idea to restrict him in the world of the living. He couldn’t be seen by most breathers, and he couldn’t even affect the world of the living unless someone said his name three times.

Of course, there were always exceptions to every rule. In the past, there had been plenty of superstitious people. They believed in gods, they believed in the afterlife, they believed in demons, and they were afraid. Those people had set him loose on more than one occasion, because he’d lied and told them the only way to get rid of him was by saying his name three times. Well, technically that _ wasn’t _ a lie, he’d just neglected to tell them he was already “away”. Though it kind of sucked when science took hold and people stopped believing as fervently in matters outside their own meaningless little lives, sometimes when he caused chaos in the Netherworld and was banished back to the world of breathers he’d get stuck somewhere fun. One time he’d been placed in a local sanitarium. That had been a barrel of laughs, crazy people were the best kinds of people, since they could usually see him. A bit more frequently, though still rarely, he got stuck in a place with someone paranormally minded but not smart enough to figure out how to say his name, or too stubborn to once they figured it out. He’d gotten his revenge by making everyone around them think they were crazy. Sending off schmucks for lobotomies was always a good time. At least, in the moment, then he remembered he was alone and invisible again before ultimately returning to the land of the dead.

But this time, oh his mother had really had it in for him this time. She’d sent him to the middle of nowheresville. A small town in Connecticut. His haunting perimeters confined to this one house far removed from everything and everyone. And for whatever reason, extremely attractive to whitebred yuppies. Those who were so basic it physically _ hurt_. For the last ten years or so, he’d been rooming with a young couple called the Maitlands. Adam and Barbara. Two young kids with their whole lives ahead of them. And Beetlejuice was going to have to wait for them to either move out or die. Here was hoping for the latter. But as for right now, this was snore central. Adam and Barbara were the most boring people on the face of the planet. Nothing salacious about them, no hidden secrets or vices. Just two suburban, middle class white kids. Snore. If they could see and interact with him he might have been able to have more fun. Barbara was hot. And Adam looked like he had such a stick up his ass that Beetlejuice could get some fun out of flirting with him, regardless of whether he meant it or not.

But for right now? He was ready to go insane, more so than he already was. The Maitlands were more boring than Brigadoon, which yes, he’d watched because of _ course _ the Maitlands owned it. And it _ figured _ that it was one of their favorite movies. Beetlejuice mostly lurked in the attic and on the roof nowadays. Why? Because for the last seven or so of these almost ten years he’d been sharing a space with them, all he’d heard almost constantly was arguments on whether or not they were ready to have a kid and start a family. And it seemed like today wasn’t going to be any different. Adam was restoring an antique crib. Yep, nothing to get your mind off of whether or not you think you’re ready to have a screaming little brat of your own than an old as shit piece of baby furniture. Something which Adam detailed as he talked to himself.

“Why restore a crib when you don’t have a kid?” Adam’s tone made the demon think he was supposedly emulating naysayers who found he hobby just as boring as Beetlejuice himself did, “I mean even if you did have a kid, a crib like this is too precious to put a baby inside. And your perfectionism in restoring it seems to just be a reminder that you’re not mentally prepared to have a kid,” then again, maybe he was repeating the words of a therapist. Christ, even the Maitlands psychological issues were dull as dirt.

But Adam continued, “Why not take a chance, why not live Adam? The whole point of being married is to have kids isn’t it?” No, no, definitely that one asshole friend who fancied themselves a shrink because they took one psychology class in college, Beej would have bet any amount of money on that.

But thankfully before Adam could go off on a tangent, Barbara showed up. She hadn’t been feeling well the last couple of days and had even gone to the doctor, but it hadn’t stopped her from playing with her clays. She was very much into ceramics at the moment, which according to at least one of her bitch friends, maybe that same dumbass who’d made stick in the mud Adam panic -was just a manifestation of motherly panic. Being able to make a baby that’s breakable and just put it away so she didn’t have to face the prospect of being a bad mom. God these people needed cooler friends. But, being around for as long as he had, Beetlejuice could read body language quite easily.

“Big news?” he asked, even though he knew he wasn’t going to get an answer.

“So, that was the O’Briens calling,” Barbara said, rubbing her stomach like she was still in pain while holding one of her stupid jugs.

“Oh really?” Adam asked, “Well don’t worry, I’ll have this crib finished before that baby gets here,”

“Well…” Barabra replied, “Actually she had it yesterday; it’s a girl!”

“That’s…” Adam looked awkward and uncomfortable, “Great news! Well, I guess I’ll have to have it finished after lunch huh? I’m famished, do you want anything?”

“Oh, could you make me a sandwich?” Barbara asked, turning as her husband passed her.

“One sandwich, coming up,” Adam said as he placed a kiss on her cheek and headed for the kitchen.

Knowing he couldn’t be heard, Beetlejuice spoke up, “Oh Barbara, you don’t need a sandwich when you’re already a snack,” he snorted at his own joke. The biggest issue with being invisible was that there was no one around to bear witness to his genius comedy.

Beetlejuice watched her cradle the piece like an infant, speaking to it like it really was a child. Oh brother, he simply didn’t get these people. The same argument, on and off, for _ years _ . Typically time moved differently for the dead, but being stuck with these yuppies had made every second torturously apparent. And yet, Adam came back a few minutes later with no sandwich, and they started adding more things to the list of why they couldn’t have a baby just yet. Like a creaky floorboard. A _ creaky floorboard_! God slash Satan why did he have to be stuck with these yahoos? At this rate they’d be _ grandparents _ before they had kids. And to be quite honest, Beetlejuice was done listening to this for the day. He didn’t even care about the phone ringing or who was on the other end. He was going up to the attic, or to the roof, he’d decide when he got there what he wanted to do. Playing with the Maitlands’ stuff was always a fun time, even if all he could do was phase himself through it and see what was going on. He wasn’t worried, the Maitlands were boring as bricks, he doubted they’d be dying anytime soon.

Barbara had gone to answer the phone downstairs. Adam waited in the living room, still polishing up that antique crib. A few moments later Barbara came back, looking awed and amazed, and scared. Terrified, even. Adam wondered what was going on. Was something wrong?

“Honey?” he questioned, immediately dropping the polishing rag to go over to her, “Who was that on the phone? Is everything okay?”

“It…” Barbara seemed far away even as she tried to share what she had learned with her spouse, “It was the doctor’s office.”

“Doctor’s office, why would they be calling?” Adam asked. As far as he knew it was just a slight stomach bug Barbara had come down with.

“Well…” Barbara shrugged, “I went to visit them yesterday, and I described my symptoms… and they wanted me to take a test. But, I got scared and said they could call me with the results later. And that’s what they did,” she let out a nervous little laugh.

“A test? A test for what?”

“Adam I-” Barbara took a deep breath. This was earth shattering news and she herself was still trying to process it. But as terrified as she was, she was also hopeful and excited, “I’m pregnant Adam,”

Adam was silent. And then, a soft, disbelieving, “What?” came out of his mouth.

“I’m, _ we’re _ going to have a baby, Adam,” Barbara couldn’t contain the grin that stretched across her face, “I can’t believe it, we’re having a baby!”

“This… is…” Adam began slowly, “So incredible!” he picked up Barbara and spun her around, “Well, I guess we have to get going I mean we have so much to do to prepare and-” he stopped as he set her down, “I can’t believe it, we’re actually… taking the next step,”

Barbara nodded, goofy grin still in place, “Are you ready to take the next step?”

“Ready,” Adam nodded, “Set,” he grabbed her hands, “Here we go,”

“I’m just… so happy Adam,” Barbara told him, a tear welling up in her eyes.

“Me too,” he agreed. And then, like giddy children they squeezed tightly and began jumping up and down. But that creaky floorboard had been an omen. And with a pitiful groan of surrender, the boards snapped, the floor gave out beneath them, and the Maitlands fell into the basement. Ready, set, not yet.


	2. The Whole "Being Dead" Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So remember when I said each chapter would cover about 2-3 songs? Well this chapter decided to be way too long on it's own so we only really covered one here. Sorry, I'll try to be more consistent and cover more ground next time. Anyways, enjoy!

Beetlejuice’s favorite room in the Maitland house was not technically _ inside _ the house. He liked the wide roof, with plenty of space to sit, and pace, and shout obscenities at the sky. It also had a great view of the whole rest of Winter River. The whole rest of a town that he couldn't terrorize. But it was better than looking at Mr. and Mrs. Lameass’ soul draining decor. Really, that was perhaps the most depressing part of living with them, they had no sense of style. How ironic, the stuff had a lot more life than the living, and the living he was shacked up with were a bunch a stiffs.

The town was laid out beautifully, if somewhat messily, before him. He'd always appreciated the chaos of small colonial towns. Everything tucked in where there was room. Seemed nice and cozy. Like people _ cared _ about one another. Musta been nice. It was as he was sitting there contemplating he heard the sounds of what sounded like groaning and snapping. He wasn't surprised, it was an old house. Kinda like snapping bones that shifted back into place. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Then again… he paused a moment and thought about it, hadn't the yuppies been complaining about squeaky floorboard just a few seconds ago? What if… nah, no that wasn't the way they were going out. No way. But still, it couldn't _ hurt _ to check up on them right? Even so, Beetlejuice was in no rush. He could spend a few more moments out here.

Meanwhile, Barbara and Adam were crawling their way back out of the hole. Why they didn't simply take the stairs out of the basement was anybody’s guess. Barbara was absolutely shaken, only barely trying to get out as the other hand was curled protectively around her stomach.

“Holy smokes that was some fall,” he remarked as he caught his breath.

“I… I guess the floor gave out?” Barbara managed to say. She looked as though she was in major shock, not really aware of anything or anyone else, responses having a sort of mechanical quality to them.

“And I didn’t think it was that weak.” Adam shook his head, and then put a hand on Barbara’s shoulder, “Are you okay hon?”

“M-” Barbara replied, still visibly shaken, “M-my baby Adam! We need to do something about my baby!”

“Barbara, Barbara calm down,” Adam placed his hands on her shoulders, “Oh dear you’re as cold as ice. Here, let me call the doctor’s while you try to warm up,” he guided her to the couch and physically sat her down, “Wait right here,” and he hurried off.

Barbara attempted to warm her hands up but she couldn’t help being worried about her baby. Her poor baby. The doctor had said she was only about two months along. Anything could happen at this part of the pregnancy. Barbara knew she’d been hemming and hawing about whether or not she wanted a baby at all, but now that she’d been told she was going to… well that changed things. She wanted this baby, she wanted to make sure it was alright, she wanted… she wanted to stop shivering. It was so cold in here, if only there was-

Barbara turned her head to look at the fire now currently crackling in the fireplace. A fire she didn’t remember lighting. Slowly, confused and entranced by the dancing flames she stuck her hand out in front of them to try and warm up. Adam returned,

“The line was busy, I’m sorry honey,” Adam said as he returned to the living room, “I’ll give them another call in a few minutes and… when did you light a fire?”

“It’s not hot,” Barbara murmured in reply, still entranced by the fact that she couldn’t feel the heat licking at her fingers the way she _ knew _ it was supposed to.

“I’m sorry?” Adam asked, tilting his head to the side, unsure of what he had heard his wife say.

“The fire, it’s not hot,” Barbara said, immediately pulling her hand back as she realized one of her fingers had caught fire. But it didn’t burn, or feel like heat at all. Barbara stared at her hand, wary and frightened, “What is _ happening_?”

“Look, look, I think we’re just a little shaken up is all,” Adam reasoned, “And why wouldn’t we? We’re extremely lucky… I mean, a fall from that height it could have been really bad.”

“You don’t think something happened to my baby do you?” Barbara asked, “We need to go to a hospital!”

“No, no,” Adam calmed her, “We just need to wait a moment. I’m sure everything’s fine Barbara,”

“Adam I’m only two months along,” Barbara clutched at him worriedly, “A lot of people lose their babies before the first trimester, I don’t want to be one of them.”

“Barbara,” Adam held her tightly a moment before letting her go, “We’ll make sure the baby is okay, I promise. But getting hysterical isn’t going to help it either. We need to try and remain calm,”

“Okay,” Barbara took a deep breath and nodded, “Okay, you’re right. Getting stressed isn’t good for the baby either. Okay…” she took a deep breath and sighed, “Right, I just need to get my mind off things, maybe read a book…” it was then she noticed a tome on the couch’s side table, “Funny, I don’t remember leaving a book there…” she picked it up and noticed the title, “_Handbook for the Recently Deceased_?”

“Recently deceased?” Adam looked at the book with her, before striding away, trying to pace out the lingering adrenaline, “Well that can’t be right, I mean we’re still alive. Though, I have to admit… it could have happened. We’re lucky we didn’t but to be honest; we fell and my whole life flashed before my eyes.” he let out a weak little laugh as he paused by the offending hole in the floor, “I started asking myself the big questions like…” and here he made the mistake of looking down, “Why are our bodies still in the basement?”

Barbara blanched, “What did you say?” she asked though her tone was clearly pleading with him and herself that she had heard what he’d said wrong.

Adam glanced down again, and back at his wife. There were no words to describe the sudden realization, so he made sounds instead. A soft one, of disbelief, turning louder and shriller as understanding mounted between him and Barbara. Dead. They were dead. And to try and cope they rushed back into each other’s arms, holding onto each other for dear life, though that very well might not have been the case.

“A-adam,” Barbara’s voice was weak and hoarse, choked up with emotion and tears, “I don’t think we survived that fall.”

“Barbara-” he began, but she continued and cut him off.

“And if _ we _ didn’t survive… Oh God,” she looked horrified, “The baby! _My_ baby! Adam my baby!”

“Barbara, Barbara, calm down,” Adam attempted to soothe to no avail, “Maybe we’re just hallucinating,”

“Hallucinating?” and the grief turned very quickly to anger, “Adam, we’re cold to the touch, we can’t feel the pain of a fire, our bodies are in the basement, and there is a book titled _ Handbook for the Recently Deceased _ in our living room. I don’t think we’d hallucinate any of this. Let’s face facts; we’re _ dead_, and so is…” the pain was still too fresh for her to finish that sentence, so she broke down crying instead. Barbara fell to her knees and wept, wept for the loss of something she hadn’t quite figured out she’d wanted but had been so excited to try. Ready or not, she’d been willing to take the next step, and now, now she’d never have it, ever again.

“Um, right, you’re right, maybe we are… dead, but um…” Adam was scrambling for a way to turn this situation around. True, they may be dead and the baby… well he certainly wasn’t ready to think about that anymore than Barbara was, so maybe a distraction was just what they needed, “Hey, why don’t we check out that book, huh? It looks old,” he dared to let the aroma of the book hit him and exhaled with a small sigh of pleasure, “It smells old too. And you know us Barbara, we’re old book smell people. Here, take a whiff,”

Barbara sniffled but did so, “It smells like an old book alright,” she acknowledged, “But what does it say?”

“Well…” Adam pulled out his glasses, “Let’s see what it says,” he opened the book and began looking, “Chapter One: The Netherworld. Says here that all ghosts should proceed directly to the Netherworld,”

“And how are we supposed to do that?”

“Draw a door and knock three times,” Adam said, closing the book with a small thump of finality, “It says that we _ should _ go, not that we _ have _ to you know… We could stay here.”

“Stay here?” Barbara asked, “Why?”

“Look honey, all of this happened so very fast, but look, maybe things can be alright again. I mean, we're still together, we're still in our house; that's a good sign. Maybe they don’t have to change at all-”

This statement coincided with the arrival of Beetlejuice as he lumbered down the stairs. Sure, he could have just poofed himself back into the living room, but he’d decided to take the scenic route for shits and giggles,

“Hey Adam, Babs, how are my two favorite breathers doing now? Still arguing over rattles and diapers?” he asked as he braced himself on the railing of the landing.

Adam and Barbara looked over in his direction, their eyes widened, and then they screamed. Wait, they screamed? That meant, that meant they could see him. Which meant… oh Jesus they’d kicked the bucket and he’d _ missed _ it! Crap, had they looked at the handbook? Had they even _ found _ the handbook yet? Probably, this place was so disgustingly orderly it’d be near impossible not to notice when something was different. Shit, he needed to recover, and fast. How to do it, how to do it, dammit he really wasn’t good with people. Still, he could probably salvage the situation if he just played it cool.

“Okay, um…” off to a good start, “Let me try that again,” Beetlejuice cleared his throat, “Hi, you… are dead, I am also dead…” keep going, keep going, “Maybe… we can help each other,” he held his hand out and began walking down the stairs, “So-”

And they screamed again, quickly running away from him. Beetlejuice held out his hands, attempting to calm them down, hushing them as though the neighbors would hear anything.

“Don’t be scared,” he tried for gentility, “Um…” he cleared his throat, still trying to think of what he could say to hook them into helping him, “I want us… to be pals,”

He took one step closer and they screamed again. Okay, clearly playing it ‘cool’ was not working with these people. So, maybe it was time for a more businesslike approach,

“Alright, one more time,” Beetlejuice cleared his throat and brushed down his suit, straightening the lapels as much as he could and squaring his shoulders. He held out his hand towards Adam,

“Hi, I’ll be your guide,”

“Our guide?” Adam said as he hesitantly took the proffered hand for a shake, the other still curled protectively around Barbara.

“Yes guide,” Beetlejuice deadpanned, “G-U-I-D-E, don’t you know how to spell?”

“We- yes,” Adam sputtered, “That wasn’t what I was asking though,” he pointed out, ignoring Beetlejuice’s muttered, “Well that makes one of us,”

“And what _ were _ you asking then, huh Adam?” Beetlejuice folded his arms, “Remember, one question per customer.”

“How did you know my name?” Adam asked, before shaking his head, “No wait, that wasn’t my question. I mean, what exactly are you supposed to be our guide _ to_?”

“The other side of course,” Beetlejuice answered.

“I really don’t get what’s happening here,” Barbara began to hyperventilate, and Adam had his hands on her shoulders again.

“Look, look,” Beetlejuice held his his hands in a placative gesture, “I know it’s a lot to process. But, the good news is that you both died in your own house. In the world of the dead, that gives you a bit of clout, and so, the two of you should stick around.” and here he couldn’t resist bragging, “You know, you’re lucky I dropped by. You seem nice, little on the extra white side but hey, I won’t hold that against ya,”

“And…” Adam began, “What exactly are your qualifications for… whatever it is you’re proposing here?”

“Adam, honey,” Beetlejuice shook his head like a condescending parent, “I’ve been scaring for millennia. I’m a bio-exorcist by trade. I’m here to flush out the breathers so you two can breathe easy, metaphorically speaking. And then help you get settled into your new afterlife. But in order to do that you gotta work with me here. So,” he made another placating gesture and held out his hand, “Let’s try introductions one last time, a pleasure to meet you,”

“I guess…” Adam said as he shook the hand and pulled back, discreetly wiping it on the back of his pants.

“Enchante, Barbara,” Beetlejuice said as he bowed over her hand, butchering the french word irreparably. But just when Barbara thought he might kiss her hand and be done with it, he pulled her into a full body kiss on the lips.

“Hey!” Adam quickly pulled his wife out of Beetlejuice’s grip and stood between them, “Excuse me!” even at his angriest he couldn’t convey anything physically than mild irritation and discomfort.

“Oh boy,” Beetlejuice couldn’t help but respond gleefully. Barbara was hot, and he knew she’d been just about to give in when Mister boring in plaid stepped in, “Do you know how to pick ‘em or what?”

“What?” Adam asked. But rather than answering Beetlejuice continued with his own line of thought,

“Let me ask you a question; guy talk, okay? H-” and here he hesitated a moment, “How’d you do it?”

“What?” Adam repeated again, still uncomfortable and now doubly so with the mercurial changes that seemed to be occurring out of nowhere with this man.

“How’d you get her to marry you?" realizing how sappy that sounded Beetlejuice quickly attempted to excuse it, "Not that I’m in the market for a wife myself at the moment but it’d still be nice to know how some of you do it.”

“Who are you!” Adam yelled.

Oh boy, this was gonna be as fun as he imagined it would. Beetlejuice took an enormous amount of self-restraint to keep from rubbing his hands together. Instead, he put on his best put out and dejected expression and parried, “Adam, you don’t recognize me, do you? I’m your father,”

Adam, to his small credit, didn’t look like he believed it. He glanced back at his wife, but when he returned Beetlejuice’s gaze he looked softer, suckered in. Adam stood closer and put a hand on Beetlejuice’s shoulder, “Dad?” he asked, as though he wanted to believe but couldn’t.

Beetlejuice had to shake his head, a fondly exasperated smile playing at his lips, “You, are… _adorable_,” and with one fast move Adam had his feet swept out from under him, dipped like the lady at the end of a professional tango routine. Beetlejuice leaned in close as if to kiss him too before stopping just a hairsbreadth away and saying, “Psyche!”

Putting Adam back on his feet Beetlejuice couldn’t help his chuckle, or the need to rub his victim’s gullibility in his face, “Man Adam, you may be good looking, but there’s really not much going on up top, is there?” he knocked at Adam’s skull, using magic to produce a hollow sound in response, “Said I’d been scaring for millennia, ya think I’d have time to have a kid?”

“Barbara, let’s leave,” Adam said, taking his wife by the shoulders and walking her away from him.

“Alright, alright,” Beetlejuice acquiesced as he stopped them, “No more fun and games. All business, I promise. Now, what have you figured out so far?”

“Well…” Adam and Barbara looked at each other uncertainly, “We got this book,”

“Ah yes,” Beetlejuice nodded, “_The Handbook for the Recently Deceased_, am I right?” at their nods he continued, “Well, you’d be better off throwing that book out,”

“Throw it out?”

“Or burn it, preferably,” Beetlejuice said, eyeing the blazing fireplace, “Since there’s a fire here and everything,”

“But-” Adam tilted his head to the side in confusion, “If you’re supposed to be our guide, shouldn’t you be taking us to the Netherworld?”

“Oh, so you’ve _ opened _ the book then,” Beetlejuice folded his arms, “Believe me kids, the Netherworld is the last place you wanna go. I don’t even like _ saying _ the world, so nevermind it.”

“Nevermind it?” Adam asked, “It says that all ghosts are to proceed directly to the Netherworld,”

“Believe me, Adam, babe, I _ know _ what the damn handbook says,” Beetlejuice could feel his temper rising, “But, I also know that a lot of what’s in that thing is bullshit. So,” he shrugged at them, “Who are you gonna believe, me, or some musty old book?”

“I…” Barbara spoke up, “I don’t know who to believe. No offense mister but you give me the creeps.”

“Well thank you very much,” Beetlejuice preened, “You give me a boner, but we’ll have time to talk about that later. Right now we need to help get you adjusted to this whole ‘being dead’ thing. Besides, you’re gonna need my help, you’re gonna need to hire me,”

“Hire you?” Adam repeated, “For what?”

“To teach you how to scare,” Beetlejuice replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Scare who?” Barbara asked. And Beetlejuice took great theatricality in his next words,

“The people who bought _ your house_!” and as if on cue, the doors opened and movers began coming in, taking objects and carrying them off. Naturally the Maitlands were upset by this prospect.

“B-but how!” Barbara sputtered, “We just died!”

“Time moves differently when you’re dead,” Beetlejuice offered as an explanation. Adam and barbara attempted to stop the movers from taking their possessions but the men continued on without ever seeing them. Beetlejuice offered half-hearted words of encouragement, though he was clearly taking pleasure in the failed attempts of the yuppies to try and stop the breathers.

“They can’t see us!” Adam eventually shouted at the other male. Beetlejuice, who’d been leaning against the dining room table, looked at him,

“Keen observation Adam,” he replied, pulling out a small extendable pointer and walking over to them, “You see,” he began with the pomposity of a Harvard lecturer, “the living, ignore the dead. We are,” and here he emphasized his building point with gestures and sound effects, “Invisible.” and just for good measure he took the pointer and smacked Adam in the back with it before shrinking it back down and stowing it in his pocket.

“We’re invisible?” the Maitlands asked, seemingly more concerned now.

“More or less,” Beetlejuice affirmed, “You see, most breathers go around worrying so much about their stupid little lives that none of them notice anything strange and/or unusual. Not unless you make them, that is.”

“I don’t know,” Barbara said, “Why go through all this work when the book says-”

“I KNOW WHAT THE BOOK SAYS BARBARA!” Beetlejuice lost his temper before he could help himself, “But trust me, you _ don’t _ wanna go there.”

“Why not?” Adam asked, stepping closer to Barbara. They were always like that, always touching when they were together. Beetlejuice envied that close companionship. Intimacy at its least sexual. How long had it been since he’d last felt a kind touch like that?

Before he got lost in his own pits of mental issues, Beetlejuice recovered enough to answer them, “Because, the Netherworld is where every soul goes once they die. Believe me, if you don’t like family reunions you’d better skip this because that’s all that is. One big, terrible family reunion.”

“Wait,” Barbara interjected, “_Every _ soul?”

“Every soul that’s had even one brief moment of existence, yeah, sure,” Beetlejuice nodded.

“Adam, we have to go there,” Barbara grabbed the lapels of Adam’s shirt.

“What?” the other men said in unison.

“Barbara that’s-”

“A terrible idea, really,” Beetlejuice cut in, “You should just stay here, with me, and learn how to haunt your own house. That’s a much better plan don’t you think? Yeah I think so too-”

“Adam,” Barbara looked her husband in the eyes, “What if our baby’s there? Alone and waiting for us?”

“Barbara,” Adam hesitated, “We didn’t even make it so the baby could be born… I don’t think it would-” this time he was interrupted by more movers coming in, picking up the antique crib and handling it carelessly. When Adam shouted at them they didn’t react, saying it didn’t matter how the crib was being handled since it was going straight to the dump. All his hard work, being tossed aside like trash.

“You know,” Beetlejuice began conversationally, “If you go, that’s gonna happen to… everything. But if you stay, and hire me, we’ll get it back, I promise.”

“Barbara,” Adam said a third time, this time helplessly. But Barbara looked resolute,

“Adam,” she pulled out of his arms and grabbed a piece of chalk that had been sitting in one of their side table drawers for god knew how long, “You can stay here, if you want. You can spend eternity trying to protect objects without meaning. You can do that, if that’s what you want but,” And here she paused to begin drawing the door, “I’m going to the Netherworld to find my baby.”

“But Barbara!” Adam protested, “What about our house? What about everything we did together?”

“I can’t stay in this house, Adam,” Barbara shook her head sadly, “I can’t stay in the house that took my life and my baby away from me.”

And then, she knocked three times. The door drawn on the wall opened, backlighting her in unnatural green, “So unless you’re coming with me, this is goodbye,”

“Barbara no!” Adam shouted, running after her as she disappeared into the abyss.

And in the meantime, Beetlejuice had just stood there, dumbstruck. It had been touching to watch, from an outside perspective. But how could he have known? They’d always talked about being careful because they weren’t certain they were ready to have a kid. Barbara had been pregnant? Oh man, didn’t that suck to suck? Life really was the bitch here, wasn’t it? But more importantly, how was he going to get a living person to say his name three times when his only means of interacting with the living world were now gone?

Before he could really contemplate anything he saw the door open once again. Oh right, time moved differently for the dead. How long he felt like he’d been standing there versus how long he’d _ actually _ been standing there was something to remember. Oh well, maybe his new housemates would be paranormally minded and he could be seen? Or maybe he’d have to wait for someone to die again. And this time, he’d be on them like grease on bacon. Then a stupidly dressed woman with a stupid hairstyle, wearing a stupid crystal around her neck and holding a stupid triangle which she then hit with it’s stupid striker. She then listened to the sound reverberating around the room and hummed with satisfaction,

“There’s very good energy here Charles,” she said loudly, “Very, good, energy.” and then, she liked the little triangle’s ringer.

Yeah… nope. Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope. Hell. No. he was not putting up with one of those new age hippie hipsters. He was not watching over her ass and waiting for when she died. Not again. Hipster hippies were the most annoying people on the face of the planet and he was not dealing with it. Though, she’d mentioned another name. A Charles. Yeah, Chuck didn’t exactly sound like a promising name.

“I’m glad you like it,” a male voice replied as he himself entered the premises, “I took a big risk buying this place; can you believe people actually used to _ live _ here?” he shivered in disgust as he looked at the decor, “It’s like a nursing home for sad cats.”

Beetlejuice couldn’t help but feel a little offended at that. The Maitlands had become something like a family to him, and just like his real family they’d abandoned him to the empty house. But still, only _ he _ could insult their piss poor taste in interior design. Him, no one else.

“Don’t you worry Charles,” the woman shrugged, “If we make it look fabulous, no one will ever know that it’s actually crushing the insecure, and older than it says it is,” and here she peered off into the distance with vulture like eyes.

“Yeah,” Beetlejuice scoffed, folding his arms as he sized her up, “Because you’re _ just _ the person to talk to about interior design. You’re wearing a goddamn shower curtain for a dress.”

No response, and considering neither had noticed him when they walked in, yep; these were typical breathers with their typical breather problem. Blech, Beetlejuice felt like he was gonna be sick. But he’d have time to enjoy that later, right now, all he wanted to do was get away from these new wave yuppies he was now stuck with. And good timing too, he realized as he saw Chuck throw the woman -whose name was Delia apparently- down onto the table and begin ravishing her. Ew, gross, no. Fuck the stairs in this instance, Beetlejuice simply popped himself back into the attic. Eternity, let’s begin again. Beetlejuice left so quickly he missed the movers carrying in a couch, and the young woman who lay corpse like beneath its dust covering, a bouquet of calla lilies in her hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Until next time everyone!


	3. Dead Mom-Fright of Their Lives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, this was an exhausting one to write. Mainly because, while I enjoy weaving the songs into the story, it can be a little tricky to convey the same emotions without simply quoting them verbatim. Same with other elements of the musical. I like quoting it here and there, but hopefully there's enough original content to make it worth your while. Anyways, enjoy!

“Hey dad,” Lydia said as the cover was pulled off of her, “Does this couch make me look dead?”

Her mother would have found a way to make a joke out of the situation. Or at least encourage Lydia in whatever it was she was attempting to do, regardless of whether or not she understood it. That had just been how Emily was. But as for Lydia’s father, all he said was,

“Lydia, I am not going to answer a question like that. And would you please take your feet off the couch? That’s a display couch,”

Still attempting to have a bit of fun Lydia sat up with a burst of inspiration, “Oooh! Put that on my tombstone!” she stood and held to bouquet closer to her, “Lydia Deetz; she died on a display couch!”

Of course, Delia had to interrupt the fun by doing her stupid “life coach” thing. Lydia wondered if Delia realized she’d been able to hear the suggestive way she’d told her father that life coach meant, “Almost _ anything_.” Blech, Lydia knew her father would never be interested in a woman throwing herself at him that desperately.

“And do you remember what I told you?” Delia concluded her little miniature lecture. Oh goodness, the woman was just too much of a sap, wasn’t she?

“Yeah, you said,” Lydia folded her arms and then adopted a nasley tone in an attempt to imitate Delia, “‘Stop acting so weird, I need this job’-”

“No!” Delia quickly cut her off, glancing over to where Charles was standing and watching them, “No,” she repeated, “_No_. I am positive I quoted my guru, Otho who said; ‘Sadness is like kale salad. No one likes it, throw it out,'”

Lydia peered at her. Did the woman even _ realize _ how ridiculous that sounded? Was she a sucker or what? This Guru Otho must have made a killing off of her devotion alone. But Lydia honestly wasn’t concerned about that. She was concerned about being stuck in this damn house that her father had forced her to come to.

“Dad, how long do we have to stay here? I wanna go home,” Lydia folded her arms as she stalked over to him. And that was when she learned, she didn’t have a home anymore. This _ was _ her home now. Something her father had simply decided without her knowledge or consent. And yes, she knew she would have had no choice in the matter but it would have been nice to have been _ asked _ before uprooting her life like this. It had only been six months since mom had died, and on top of not being able to even talk about her, now her father was taking everything about her away from his daughter. Moving on as if nothing had ever happened, as if Emily had never existed. And he had the balls to claim it was for their own good. That they needed a “fresh start”, and that he was going to sell the house back in New York so they could live here.

“What?” Lydia has asked, unable to believe what she was hearing. But all her father did was go on about how this was a wonderful business opportunity so long as he could get his business friend Maxie Deen to invest in it. Just what this nowhere town needed, a bunch of gentrification and pompous assholes of the rich and lamous. Nice.

“You can’t do that,” Lydia tried to argue, “Dead mom loved that house,”

Of course her choice of words had little effect in helping her argument to her father it seemed. All he did was question why she would say that, and when Lydia retorted with infallible logic, turning the situation back on him all he did was sic Delia on her. Something Lydia shut down immediately, now attempting to appeal to her father’s sense of nostalgia. Reminding him of when they’d first bought that house. Their first house as a family -Lydia’s infancy having been spent in an upscale high rise apartment she had very little memories of and no fondness for. But that house, that house was _ different_. They’d spent so much time together, fixing it up as they’d moved in. With mom singing that song,

“Shake, shake, shake senora,” Lydia began, grabbing hold of her father’s hands and trying to get him to join in and remember, “Shake your body line. Shake-”

But her father cut in, blowing her off with the age old excuse, “Look, I have work to do.” and walking off. Lydia watched him go as though she couldn’t believe him. Which she didn’t. Why? Why didn’t he want to talk about her? Why did he want to act as if he was content to forget all about her. And yet, Charles wasn’t done twisting the knife it seemed,

“Now, you listen to me,” he began, “You have moped around for months now, dressed in black and obsessing about death!”

“I’ve always liked black,” Lydia reminded him. He’d just never noticed because with Mom around her blacks had always been tempered by a splash of color. Purples and reds and blues, mysterious and intriguing, linked with death but not consumed by it. But with her mother gone, so too was the color from Lydia’s life, “Besides, I’m in mourning.”

“Yes,” Charles was clearly exasperated by her behavior, “And now that is _ done_.”

He seemed to realize how harsh that sounded, as he attempted to bring up the energy with a positive affirmation of them moving forward, all of them. Lydia watched her father walk away again, reminding them that to him, the most important thing was this business dinner. That this needed to be a model house, with a model family inside it. Ha, wonderful. Image was everything to her father after all. And he made a point to say that he knew his own daughter wouldn’t let him down.

“Yeah,” Lydia muttered as she watched him walk up the stairs, “It’d be a _ real _ shame if we let each other down, wouldn’t it?”

But Delia, true to her attempts at life coaching, was already trying to think on the positive side. And Lydia was in no mood for it. So she decided to play a little game,

“Hey Delia,” Lydia began as she approached the woman, “Knock knock,”

The stupid knock knock game was one of her favorite attempts to try and get Lydia to start thinking more positive; the metaphor being that one had to let the good emotions in, and the bad ones out. But Lydia decided to throw it back in the other woman’s face, chiding her for asking who was there and telling her she’d have to open up the door to find out. And then turning around and scaring the crap out of her. Lydia found it hilarious, but Delia was obviously less than amused.

“You’re so _ weird_!” Delia huffed as she attempted to catch her breath. Calming down she continued, “But we’re gonna _ change _ all that.”

Lydia couldn’t repress her sneer. She knew her real mother would have gotten a kick out of what she’d done. But no one else seemed to find the humor in scaring other people. They thought it was “cruel”. Boo. Hoo. Delia went on about needing to find a room to bless when Lydia decided to pull it again just to mess with her,

“Nope, not answering I have a peephole; I can see you,” Delia said as she began backing away, “You’re scary, bye,” and she was gone too.

Lydia shook her head and scoffed. Alone. She was alone again. Everybody left her, didn’t they? Well, everyone except dead mom. Dead mom was the most supportive parent, even when she hadn’t been dead at all. Lydia went into the box of stuff and retrieved her camera, fiddling with its instrumentation as her thoughts remained firmly fixed on her mother. Eventually, she sighed,

“Hey mom?” Lydia began before quickly correcting herself, “Dead mom, I mean… Look, I need a little help here.” Lydia quietly acknowledged the fact that she was probably talking to herself here; letting the camera hang off her neck and gently running her fingers over it. The device had been a birthday present from her parents, the last one. And Lydia had known even back then that her mother had been the one to pick it out, since her father didn’t listen enough to remember her mentioning her burgeoning interest in photography. He’d always been too busy.

“I just… I have to ask dead mom,” Lydia murmured quietly, “Are you really in the ground? It doesn’t _ feel _ like you are. It feels like you’re right here with me, all around me. Are you here dead mom?” no answer, not that she expected one. Even still, talking to someone, anyone was better than keeping it bottled up inside. And dead mom, even when she’d just been mom had never judged her.

“You know dead mom,” Lydia began, snapping a few random photos just for the hell of it, planning to over shoot them, “I’m getting really tired. Everyone’s trying to get me to “smooth” out my behavior like I’m a creased piece of clothing. I feel… _ broken _ without you. You,” and here she choked up a little, “you made me whole. Made me feel like I was enough. And now dad? Every day he’s staring at me like I'm some sort of wild animal he doesn't understand. And both him and Delia keep telling me to hurry up and be happy. It’s like… moving along is the only thing I’m supposed to do. Well, the only thing except forget you.”

Lydia shook her head, “You know what I think dead mom? I think daddy’s in denial, I really do. He doesn’t wanna feel. He wants to move on and forget everything, and he wants me to smile and play the perfect little daughter like I’m some sort of performing seal. And maybe… maybe it’s partially my fault. Because I ignored it for so long, but I really think daddy’s lost his mind, for _ real_. I just, you wouldn’t believe the _ mess _ this family’s become without you.”

She set the camera down on the dining room table of the previous owners and went back to the box, moving it to the coffee table and pulling out the old family photo album. It was almost full. Almost, but not quite. And Lydia didn’t think she’d ever have the strength to fill it again.

“You were my home, you know,” Lydia said, turning to a picture of the two of them together and stroking it fondly, “And me? I was your clone, your creation, strange as I might be. When you held my hand, things came so easy. You made me laugh, and smile, and helped me see the beauty in the strange and unusual. But now? Dead mom, now jokes don’t land, and no one sees me. I am alone, I am utterly alone without you. Nothing seems to fit anymore.” Lydia put the album back in the box and turned her eyes skyward, meeting only an empty ceiling, “Mom, is this it? Are you hearing me? I want you to, I hope you are. I need something, _ someone _ to believe in.”

Lydia didn’t want to think about what would happen if this was all for naught. She might as well not be here at all, at the very least she could lock herself in her bedroom until she was able to live on her own. At least in her bedroom things stayed the same. Not like out here. New house, new bedroom, new town, new dad. Sure, daddy was moving forward. He could, _ he _ wasn’t the one who lost a mom. Lydia begged the presence that she felt, knowing instinctively it was her mother,

“Please, send a sign,” she needed it, she could feel her hope chipping away with every second. Thinking of her mother’s sense of humor a sign wouldn’t be something normal people would see as a sign, “A… plague of mice, or a lightning strike, heck; drop a nuclear bomb. I just need a sign, I can’t _ do _ this anymore. I can’t play dad’s game, I’m going insane here, but I promise you this; I’ll make things change. I'll do whatever it takes to make him say your name dead mom.”

Lydia asserted her determination of her little proclamation with a sharp nod of her head. And, seeing that there was nothing else of any interest here, decided she might as well explore the rest of the house. At the very least find out which room was hers, and keep Delia far away from any ideas she might have had concerning its decor.

BJ BJ BJ

The attic was nothing but a graveyard of broken dreams. Maybe that was why Beetlejuice liked it so much. The Maitlands had never been a couple who could really finish everything. It had been due to their fear of failure. He wondered if anyone had ever told them quitting was worse than failing. At least failing meant you tried. Quitting? Quitting meant you didn’t even have the balls _ to _ try. But without them still here, Beetlejuice was bored. Originally the plan was to take them up here and spend some time together, teach them the ropes. But the more he thought it over, the less it began to seem like a good idea. Barbara and Adam were the most unintentionally wet blankets he’d ever met. Boring with a capital B. As a matter of fact…

Limited his powers might have been, but he could still pull off a few tricks for his own amusement. Naturally, he couldn’t call the Maitlands back from the Netherworld for two reasons. One; no one who went to the Netherworld was allowed to come back. Any attempt to do so was punished severely and sadistically. Beetlejuice was an exception, if only because the Netherworld didn’t want him around. And two; he really, _ really_, didn’t want to see his mother. Not now, or anytime this century. He could already imagine the lecture now,

“All this time without a job, god you’re such a screwup! … Aww look, the little baby came crawling back to his mommy, what’s a matter Lawrence, can’t even scare a couple of pathetic breathers? And you call yourself a demon! … Can’t you ever look like a normal demon? What’s with this awful dyed hair you’re sporting? Can’t you ever _ not _ disappoint me?”

Yeah, thank you no. But Adam and Babs? Please, they may have been annoying but they weren’t anywhere near as bad as his mother. And he’d lived with them long enough to have a pretty good handle on their personalities. With a snap of his fingers, apparitions of the Maitlands appeared in the attic. They were just manifestations of his otherwise restricted magic, but for his own entertainment, they would do.

“There you guys are,” he greeted, slinging an arm around their shoulders, “Now, do you want to learn how to be ghosts, or should I tell you the story of the time I got herpes from Katherine Hepburn?”

“Oh, tell us the story first,” Not Barbara replied, face animated but eyes empty.

“Yes,” Not Adam nodded in agreement, “You’ve been around so long you must have done a _ ton _ of interesting and exciting things!”

Maybe he was projecting a little bit, but catering to his own ego had always been one of his better skills. So with all the pomp, circumstance, and aplomb of a consummate showman, he began,

“Well, it started like this,...” and on he want, speaking with great fervor and gusto, embellishing even when he didn't need to because these weren't the real Maitlands he was trying to impress. And finally, he ended with, “So I was like, “let's do this,” but then she was like, “but I don't have any baby oil,” but then I was like, “but I have some guacamole,” and _ that _ is how I got herpes from Katherine Hepburn.”

They were silent for a moment before clapping enthusiastically, praising him for such a well told story and asking for another. Yeah… no, the Maitlands probably wouldn't have reacted like that. They were way too straight laced. Hmm… Beetlejuice tried to imagine how this would have gone if he’d successfully convinced them to stay. He was probably going to have to teach them how to get the breathers downstairs to notice them. With a twitch of his abilities and a bit of his memories concerning them, he tried again;

“And _ that _ is how I got herpes from Katherine Hepburn,”

They were silent again. But this time it was with confusion. Eventually Not Barbara raised her hand, “Um… I’m sorry but… what does this have to do with what you said earlier?”

“Oh, right,” Beetlejuice nodded, “I’m gonna teach you guys how to be ghosts.”

The Maitland clones got super excited about that. Beetlejuice recalled the many times they’d gone out, only making the house _ marginally _ more boring without them there, for these things they called “adult recreational classes”. What exactly they taught was beyond him, but probably nothing useful, like how to kill someone and dispose of the body, or how to get rid of the evidence in the event of a fatal accident. Beetlejuice felt much better equipped for life than those schmucks had been. 

“Right,” he put an end to it quickly. A while ago he’d discovered if you put too much self awareness into one’s magical clones, they tended to start believing they were more than they actually were. One exorcism attempt by a Beetleclone had been bad enough, he certainly wasn’t going to risk the same issue with these saps, “Okay, on the count of three just yell out the scariest thing you can think of. Ready?” they nodded, “One, two, three!”

“Exploding teeth!” Yelled Not Barbara, while Not Adam said, “Serial killers!”

While both answers were plausible for a set of normal people like the Maitlands seemed to be, Beetlejuice couldn’t help but feel it was still somehow _ wrong_. Well, okay, maybe the exploding teeth thing wasn’t that normal, but it wasn’t something out of the realm of possibility for a breather to be afraid of. Not when there were such human fears as getting peanut butter stuck to the roof of their mouths.

“Hmm…” Beetlejuice mused. Think, think, what did white suburban couples tend to fear? Ah! He had it, maybe putting a couple memories of the way the old Maitlands had acted would help them think better. He thought of Barbara and of Adam, and sent those memories into the Not Maitlands. Instantly it was as though they realized their previous words were wrong,

“Wait, actually the Trader Joe’s parking lot!” Not Barbara changed her answer. And Not Adam corrected his to, “Tigersharks!”

“Ooh that’s a good one,” Not Barbara agreed.

“They’re maneaters,” Not Adam informed her. Not Barbara turned back to Beetlejuice and said,

“I wanna change my answer,”

Yeah, that sounded more like them. Jesus, maybe it had been better his plans hadn’t worked out after all. Beetlejuice twitched, “Okay, different question; we’ve got a bunch of breathers downstairs, how are you going to go about scaring them out of the house?”

“Turn all the lights on?” Not Barbara offered, “Dress up real scary?” Not Adam added.

“Like what?” Beetlejuice asked with folded arms. He wasn’t impressed so far. Then again, it was hard to be impressed by anything the Maitlands did, even when they'd been alive.

“Umm…” Not Adam thought for a moment, “Oh I know! A baby! Those are _ super _ scary!”

Beetlejuice couldn’t help but drop his head in disappointment. Not in the accuracy of his little apparitions, of that he was actually pretty proud. And as a matter of fact that probably _ was _ something the real Maitlands would have found scary.

“Yeah, you would,” he muttered under his breath. But to their faces he said, "I don't even- no, try getting your heads in the game, shall we?"

“Oh wait! I know, I know!” Not Barbara exclaimed, jumping up and down with her hand raised and waving wildly.

“This isn’t-” he had to pause a moment, “This isn’t a classroom Barbara, don’t raise your hand.”

“Let’s hide their phones!” she suggested, looking incredibly proud of herself. Not Adam looked very much impressed,

"Great idea hon!"

"Thanks!"

Yep, definitely better those boobs had gone to the Netherworld then. This was hopeless. No way would someone like the Maitlands have ever been able to scare someone. Not even giving the fright of their lives, er, afterlives at any rate. They just weren’t scary people. And considering these Not Maitlands were simple manifestations of Beetlejuice’s own memories of them, without any altering, yeah, that was not a good sign.

“Welp, I was right,” Beetlejuice proclaimed, “You two, are helpless.”

“Helpless?” the Notlands questioned.

“Yep,” Beetlejuice affirmed, “Here’s help,” he put one hand into the air, “here’s you,” he put the other one at a lower position in the air, “See this?” he asked, bringing the higher hand down to the lower one, “It’s less.”

“Well what do you expect?” Not Barbara asked, “We’re not like you,”

Clearly he needed to shut this down. The last thing he needed was his own mental issues using the manifestations against him. But his ego wouldn’t take the slight -even one from his own subconscious loathing- lying down. Beetlejuice folded his arms and glared at the fake ghost retorting, “I _ know _ that Barbara. _ No one’s _ like me, _ that’s _ the problem.”

The Notlands didn’t have a clever retort for that. And Beetlejuice decided it was time to end his little game of make believe. “Anyways…” he began casually, “Bye!” and with a snap of his fingers they were gone.

And he was alone, again. Suddenly, the attic felt like a stifling room. He needed to get out of there, and so he fled for the roof. And there, he sulked about missed opportunities and that damn handbook. If he’d just been able to have gotten his hands on the book first and burn it, things wouldn’t have turned out this way. A thought suddenly occurred to him. He hadn’t seen either Maitland take their handbook with them. Which meant they had left it laying around the house. Shit. Breathers couldn’t open the book. But honestly, they didn’t have to. The book was something that could interact with the living world, and the cover alone was enough to cause problems. If his mother found out that the Maitlands had died and came to the Netherworld without their handbook, she’d blame him. Satan below he didn’t want to deal with her now. Best to just get rid of the evidence before one of the two idiots he now lived with found it. So, Beetlejuice decided to once again take the scenic route, completely assured of not being able to be seen by anyone he didn’t care how much noise he made as he ambled down the dark halls.

Lydia had always been something of a night owl. She loved sleeping in during the day and doing all of her activities by the light of the moon. Unfortunately, she was a night owl in an early bird’s world, which meant she was often left exhausted. Couple that with her emotional baggage and she often found it hard to sleep at night. So all she was doing was lying awake in bed when she heard the sounds of someone walking down the hall, stepping on the creaky floorboards as they went. At first, she simply ignored it, likely her father who also liked to burn the midnight oil; even more so now that Mom was gone. But then she listened more closely. Her father had a heavy step, but this sounded like someone wearing heavy boots instead of her father’s expensive italian house slippers. Was there someone else in the house? No, because if there was they’d made enough noise to wake the dead, and she didn’t hear the sound of either her father’s or Delia’s doors opening. Maybe she was just imagining things, it was her first night in a big and empty house that felt nothing like home. Her father would likely accuse her of making excuses to try and get them to go back to New York. And she planned on doing that, just not now. Lydia’s gaze caught the empty glass on her nightstand she decided to head downstairs, “for a glass of water”; the perfect excuse if she was caught.

Beetlejuice bounded down to the living room. Christ, these people had no taste did they? The Maitlands hadn’t either but this… he wanted to puke, this decor was already gross and disgusting and they hadn’t even done anything but move furniture in. but, he breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the book lying near the new coffee table, as though it had fallen off and no one had noticed it. Perfect, now he could get rid of it. Just a flex of his fingers had a fire roaring in the empty fireplace. Poor little blaze, it looked hungry, good thing he had just the meal for it. And just to add to his fun he made the book talk, puppet shows were always a fun past time,

“Mister BJ,” he made the book say, “Yes book?” he replied, “Where do books go when they die?” the book asked, “Well gee, I don’t know book, let’s find out.”

And with no further ceremony he tossed the tome into the flames. He liked puppet shows, and felt most people did. But sometimes, puppet shows were sad. Glad to have the business taken care of he decided to simply pop back onto the roof to sulk. In doing so, he just evaded detection by the sullen little teenager who made her way down the stairs, empty glass still in hand. She was curious as to the cause of the fire in the fireplace. She doubted that anyone would have started it at this hour. But here it was, alive and burning. And, Lydia saw as she drew closer, there appeared to be something burning in it. Something that _ wasn’t _ a fire log. Hurrying to the kitchen she filled her glass as full as it could get and rushed back to the fire. The flames sputtered as she doused them, grabbing the tiny ash shovel and carefully picking it out of the debris, Lydia found what looked like the remains of a book. The only part of its cover she could make out being the word “Deceased”.

Strange. Strange and unusual. The cover was mostly undamaged in terms of structure, but aside from that one word it was completely blackened by char. She set it down by the hearth, waiting a moment or two before attempting to open the cover. It felt like the pages were stuck together, but only for a moment. With a soft groan the book gave and opened. Not that the small victory did much good. The pages were smoke and water damaged from her attempt to save it. The writing was completely illegible in most places, almost as though the ink had been too dry to resist running when it came into contact with moisture. Even so, Lydia decided to keep the book around, if nothing else, it might make a good photography subject. And besides, someone had wanted to burn the book, Lydia could at least have a little fun trying to find out who.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave me a comment and let me know what you thought. I may not respond but I love getting them and they make my day-o. Thanks for reading and I'll see you all next time

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thanks for reading and I'll see you all next time!


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